Breaking Bad Power Rankings: Blood Money

Yes, Game of Thrones and the GoT Power Rankings are on hiatus, a seeming eternity away from resuming. But don’t desperately try to fill that Charles Dance shaped hole in your life with crystal meth and questionable morality, the Breaking Bad Power Rankings are here to fill the void and tide you over till the dragons and swarthy British men return.

So without further ado; lets get cooking!

Hank Schrader

It looks like mineral enthusiast and DEA bigshot Hank has finally put together the final pieces of the Heisenberg puzzle, the final push coming from that great instigator of contemplation, the crapper.

After an ill fated poolside family barbecue worthy of The Sopranos, Hank retreats to his mancave, presumably after clearing out his rock (sorry, mineral) collection and shifting his home brewing setup elsewhere, then begins investigating a home brewing operation of a much grander scale than Schraderbrau enterprises. Hank sets about doing what the majority of viewers have been doing over the last few weeks, binge viewing the last 5 seasons of Breaking Bad on Netflix. Fully caught up with events thus far (though he still thinks The Wire was better) Epiphany Beard Hank is just about ready to confront the world’s worst brother in law since… Agamemnon?

But how do you confront a man who shrugs off BOMBING A FUCKING NURSING HOME whilst whipping out his well worn lung cancer get out of jail free card? By treading carefully it would seem.

Walter has thus far proven to have more lives than Saul Goodman has burner flip phones; but surely between lung cancer and a fired up Schrader, it can’t be long before he’s loading up with an M60 and a vial of ricin to conclude his longstanding, unfinished feud with rival druglord Ken Wins. Will Walt Whitman be Heisenberg’s ultimate undoing? Leaves of grass my ass. It would seem that whatever happens, Walter won’t live to see the next batch of Schraderbrau.

Walter White

It seems that New Mexico’s most overqualified chemistry teacher and car wash entrepreneur won’t be sliding into a comfortable retirement of wearing cream jumpers and grooming his goatee after all. Between cancer recurrence, an expanding car wash empire, Jesse’s cash hurling hobby and Hank’s burgeoning poetry interest Walt is being pulled in more directions than Gus Fring in a retirement home.

It appears that Albuquerque’s own Stringer Bell will be donning the infamous pork pie hat once more rather than fulfilling my dream of returning to the classroom to teach grudgingly attentive students the joys of ionic bonds. The class would be mostly well tolerated in spite of the occasional face melting of inattentive jocks in scientific demonstrations (of force).

Junior seems to be riding high of late, or more specifically, he’s riding around in his Dodge challenger, touring the finest colleges in the US and sampling their morning spreads in search of higher education’s finest breakfast. Little does he know that in about 6 months time he’ll be lucky if he’s alive and privileged enough to be washing that car under the stern eye of bushy eyebrows Bogdan.

That is, assuming he doesn’t pull a Keyser Soze, throwing down those crutches and strolling off into the sunset with a spring in his step and a briefcase full of crawlspace money and waffles in his hands. Not bloody likely.

Saul Goodman

Breaking Bad’s answer to Lionel Hutz certifies his criminal lawyer credentials in a clear breach of client-attorney-meth kingpin confidence, perhaps a hasty decision made in a post sleazy office massage haze, but negotiating the politics of the post breakup meth Beatles isn’t something they teach you in non accredited Hawaiian Law School. Regardless, it seems like that act of self preservation is zipping up the barn door after the horse has bolted since Pinkman clearly has the Walter White deception playbook fully sussed out, written down, zerox copied and filed away in a binder alongside all those promising Badger/Skinny Pete Star Trek spec scripts.

Things are beginning to look sketchy for Saul. Walter is a dangerous man and right now Lawyers are dropping like flies. At this point, Goodman needs to bump his secretary back to the DMV, put Huell in storage and take a say… six month sabbatical as perhaps an outrageously dressed used car salesman or small town radio DJ, returning once the smoke has cleared to helm the Saul Goodman spinoff, Saul Goodman: Criminal Lawyer. Actually, Goodman on the run, touring the US doing various dodgy jobs, deals and hair brained schemes would be a fantastic spinoff. Gilligan, get in touch, any of my 18 burner phones would be fine but preferably the Hello Kitty one. I think Saul Goodman On The Run is my frontrunner title at the moment.

Jesse Pinkman

Jesse is in a dark place, and not even the blazed Star Trek fanfiction of Badger and Skinny Pete can cheer him up. Generally when I’m feeling down, I like to load up my car with blood money then drive around, hurling mad stacks of cash out the windows and screaming into the all encompassing void of sorrow within myself. That always makes me feel better.

Jesse, if you really want to put that money to use and atone for your sins, find out how many tarantulas five million buys (I think it’s quite a lot). Anyway, buy that horrific tarantula warren, get a pit or a trough or maybe lease the White family swimming pool, fill it up with spiders and throw Todd in there. Just chuck him right in. You’ll feel much better about things, promise.

Pimpmaster Stacksmore (homeless dude)

Fully decked out in purple pimp suit, complete with cane, zebra skin hat and a vest made entirely of cash. Also he’s on the ground asphyxiating on his own vomit due to a heroin overdose.

Skyler White

Skyler berating skittish Maris caricature Lydia out of her carwash and denying her that final spitshine polish that really makes yours an A1 day isn’t exactly an awesome, fulminated mercury train heist caper is it? Regardless, her looming around as a sort of innocuously puffy background presence is a step up from the Ted Fucking Fuckup of seasons gone by.

Marie enters a vast, cold hallway and begins walking. She approaches a large shutter, identical to the rows and rows of shutters flanking it on either side. She unveils the thin metal curtain, watching it quickly rise up, revealing a large dark storage space. Tugging a ropey tendril, light flashes in the dusty space, illuminating the room for a moment, disappearing and reappearing.

Finally the place is lit by a dull glow and a mass of bright yellow home paraphernalia: mugs, kettles, cutlery, lampshades and more indiscriminate objects become visible. Marie casually tosses a luminous yellow keychain the shade of a jaundiced Bart Simpson onto the unwieldy, quivering pile and smirks.